


the purity of snow

by skittidyne



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Babysitting, Emotions, Family Feels, Gen, Guilt, M/M, Minor SNB Spoilers, Pining, Snowed In, So many emotions, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-06-29 21:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15738132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/pseuds/skittidyne
Summary: Snow provokes responses that reach right back to childhood.Sinbad and Ja'far visit Imuchakk for the first time since Rurumu died, accompanying her children. Ja'far tries his best to deal with the emotions this brings, but he can only ever handle so much.





	1. a tale of two princesses (and a dumpling)

Ja’far has only been to the cold land of Imuchakk once before, to kill the Parthevian dungeon conqueror, when Ja’far had been but a child.

It’s been nearly a decade since then.

It has been years since he has accompanied Sinbad on casual diplomatic visits, and it has been several years too since Sinbad had been back to Imuchakk. Not since Rurumu died. (Ja’far has been unable to stop some small part of himself from wondering if Sinbad feared retribution, or perhaps only judgment. Ja’far knows he does himself, for a myriad of reasons.)

This is the first time, however, that either of them will go to Imuchakk without either Hinahoho or Pipirika with them.

They’ve since known that Hinahoho wouldn’t be joining them, but Pipirika’s absence had been a last-minute change. Ja’far had already promised Kikiriku and the twins that he would be joining them on the trip; Pipirika insisted on taking care of the issue of a few missing (hopefully misfiled) reports on the few pieces of carved rampaging unicorn horn they had been able to secure for trade. They’d been marketed as high, luxurious art. Rametoto had not been keen on sharing such material in the name of frivolity.

Ja’far hopes it does not come up on this trip. He has no true worry over paperwork, but he has _numerous_ worries over what Chief Rametoto might say when Sinbad and Ja’far show up with several of his grandchildren and no Imuchakk attendants in sight.

(Hinahoho had assured them, vigorously, that it would be fine.)

Ja’far busies himself with the trip itself. In some ways, he thinks he’s missed being on a ship. He has certainly missed traveling so easily, but a company-slash-almost-country is a lot to care for, and is best cared for in a stationary place. He doesn’t mind that.

 

—

 

Ja’far cannot help the noise of disgust that leaves him when Sinbad comes up from below decks in a fabulously fitted winter coat.

Sinbad blinks at him from within the layers of fine fur neatly framing his face. His ponytail has been pulled out alongside his neck, trailing down the front of his coat instead of fluttering behind him like a cape. His hair is (still) longer than his coat hem.

It brings back memories.

“Sorry,” Ja’far says, eyes skating to the side.

“What have I done to earn your disdain this time? I even brushed my hair myself, you know.” For all that Sinbad loves his country, his people, and his quasi-family, Ja’far can tell that being on the sea again has reinvigorated him like few other things can. He has begged for little of Ja’far’s attention. All the better, considering Ja’far is in charge of teaching several Imuchakk children larger than he how to sail while not being an expert in such matters himself.

But Ja’far has missed what has become familiar.

“No, it’s nothing to blame you for,” Ja’far sighs. “It’s only… You look very good in your many layers.”

Sinbad has aged well, growing into his long limbs, no longer a gangly teenager but a reasonably tall man.

Ja’far has not grown the same way.

At Sinbad’s continued perplexed look, Ja’far flatly adds, “You’re tall, so a long coat suits you, Sin. I end up looking like a dumpling when I wear any extra layers.”

Sinbad laughs, full-bodied and over-warm, and Ja’far feels his cheeks heat for reasons unrelated to embarrassment he doesn’t feel. Even quicker than his body, Sinbad has long since grown into his voice.

“You’re not a dumpling!” Ramereka exclaims, popping up out of who knows where to attach herself to Ja’far’s waist. She is about his height, and she is old enough to know that she shouldn’t act like such a child—and old enough to know exactly how to act to get her way even so.

Ja’far wonders if the children have spent too much time with Sinbad.

“Where’s your sister?” Ja’far asks, since he can still hear Kikiriku, loud as ever, in the rigging overhead. “We’ll be docking soon, you two need to get dressed properly to greet your grandfather.”

“Issat why you two are so covered?”

“Speak properly,” Ja’far says, not for the first time.

Ramereka detaches herself and instead sidles up to Sinbad, a familiar, overly innocent expression on her face. “Kikiriku wants you two t’get your headbands afore him, y’know!”

“Kikiriku is seven and has several years before he stops wearing his father’s to earn his own,” Ja’far sighs.

“Why _don’t_ you have yours?” And there is Rukira, right on time, already curling herself around Ja’far’s shoulders.

“I’ve told you both—”

“Kikiriku still gets to call you brother!”

Ja’far has spent the entire damned voyage attempting to train them to avoid political embarrassment. With Rurumu gone, and Hinahoho not with them on this trip, the last thing Ja’far wishes to do is step on any toes regarding what their children may or may not call him.

He knows it had just been fond talk. He knows what family is, what _blood_ is, to the Imuchakk, and he knows what this could appear as. He does not need any extra attention on himself when he is supposed to be ensuring the children’s best behavior—and Sinbad’s. As usual.

“Think of how he would look, wearing all that blue,” Sinbad says, literally stepping in to pull Rukira from him. He has a girl on each arm now, each nearly to his shoulder already. “He doesn’t have the complexion for it! Not like you two, you’re so pretty already. Did you braid each other’s hair?”

“ _Our brother_ did!” Ramereka exclaims with the same sort of aggressive adoration she always gets when she must defend any of her siblings.

Ja’far would be touched, if it weren’t such a pain in the ass right now.

“We are all going to be dressed properly, and look our best, and _speak properly_ for our meeting with your grandfather. Do you even remember the last time you visited?” Ja’far asks, hoping to change the subject.

The twins eye each other around Sinbad’s chest, and it is Ramereka who decides to answer. “Not really. There’s lots of snow, right?”

“And no one will be tiny,” Rukira adds.

Kikiriku leaps down from the rigging overhead, landing with a mighty _whump_. He’s still barefoot and barechested, and already stands taller than Sinbad. Ja’far is simultaneously glad for his appearance, and that he did not choose to reappear by throwing himself at Ja’far (a behavior Ja’far has been _desperately_ struggling to train out of him).

“ _You_ will be the tiny ones!” he declares with as much bravado as his father had ever shown. “Grandfather is even bigger than father, _and_ bigger than mother, too!”

The twins eye each other dubiously. Ja’far’s heart clenches, because he knows the only things the twins really know about their mother is that she had been taller than their father, and she had died a hero to Sindria.

He hopes Rametoto will have memories to share with them. Ja’far has only met the Chief of Imuchakk a sparse handful of times, but never in his own home, and never directly, always off to the side in some meeting or sent to fetch Sinbad. But he knows, from Hinahoho, that he had adored his daughter wholeheartedly.

Most had, Ja’far knows.

Himself included.

He realizes, as they slowly come into the docks, that he is not as prepared for this visit as he’d told himself.

 

—

 

Ja’far tries not to grind his teeth as he watches Sinbad’s _many_ admirers flock around him. Apparently damn near every Imuchakk woman of remotely courting age remembers the Lady Killer of the Seven Seas—if only by reputation, judging on some of their ages.

It would be amusing, in other circumstances, to see Sinbad so easily dwarfed by so many. Even with Hinahoho and Drakon around, even with Rurumu having been such a visible member of their company for so long, Ja’far is less and less used to seeing people taller than Sinbad.

_Because he’s grown so damn much_ , he thinks, allowing himself a vicious moment, before dutifully storing the thought away to be forgotten.

He at least allows himself to note how bemused Sinbad himself seems, to have so many women so much taller than he.

The many Imuchakk people swarming them means many hands to help them unload cargo and carry things, but it also means an overwhelming crowd to press in on them. Ja’far means to keep a close eye on Sinbad, but he quickly realizes that the children take priority—the twins are _clearly_ stunned by so many giants, and Kikiriku has already fought his way to the front of the crowd to try to be the first to touch land.

Sinbad slips from his mind, as much as possible. (There is always that small, ever-present concern for him.)

Ja’far pushes forward, politely but firmly, one arm around each of the twins. “Kikiriku, please come back here!” he calls. He’s more polite than usual for the eyes on them, on the way this short, young man with pale hair and strange eyes herds the Chief’s grandchildren so protectively.

But his polite facade means he has little sway with a rambunctious Kikiriku.

“Ja’far, _c’mon_!” he shouts, far ahead.

Ja’far tries to hurry forward, as swiftly as possible with the girls with him.

“Are you two okay?” he asks, quietly enough not to be overheard.

Rukira stares straight ahead, with the sort of quiet determination that makes her look _so much_ like her mother. Ramereka, however, gives Ja’far the smallest shake of her head. Ja’far squeezes her shoulder, and beckons over the tall man who’d been trying so hard to ask Sinbad to accompany him to his lodgings.

“We’ll head along to our lodgings, thank you,” Ja’far offers, making clear the distinction between himself and Sinbad, who is still dead set on mingling. “Sin—you and Kikiriku stay together! We will see you later.”

As their group separates, as their ship unloads more and more, and as their party continues on into the city itself, it becomes more and more obvious to the curious onlookers that there is no Imuchakk warrior along with their group.

Just a tall, talkative man with a charming smile, dead set on making as many women (and men, Ja’far cannot help but note with a roll of his eyes) swoon as possible, and the freckled dumpling holding hands with the young princesses.


	2. the first night

There is a banquet held in their honor to welcome them. There will be several more, scheduled throughout their visit, and Ja’far had almost forgotten how much the Imuchakk value a good party. There’s a reason Sinbad had so eagerly modeled Sindria’s own festival calendar after theirs.

On the journey north, Sinbad and Ja’far had had ample opportunity to discuss _exactly how much_ Sinbad was allowed to drink at each public function. Imuchakk spirits were far stronger than most things even Sinbad was used to drinking, after all, and the last thing Ja’far wishes to deal with is a shamelessly drunk King.

As per Imuchakk tradition, they are received with the banquet rather than meetings and announcements. Ja’far appreciates the intent, but he can feel the weight of Chief Rametoto’s stare upon him throughout most of the festivities, and Ja’far would rather have gauged the man’s intentions first. Not that he distrusts him, not as an ally of Sindria or as the grandfather of Rurumu’s children, but Ja’far can hardly call himself comfortable in his presence.

He cannot forget that this is Rurumu’s father.

They don’t look very much alike, outside of the precise shade of their hair. Hinahoho, from a different village, has a slightly different shade. Their children are largely a mixture.

It’s strange, how much subtlety Ja’far is attuned to. He knows he is hyperaware, on edge more than usual perhaps, and worse yet, he knows _Sinbad_ is aware of his own fraying nerves. They are seated together, after all, hardly out of arm’s reach.

Kikiriku eats as if he were starved. The twins gradually warm up to the food, clearly showing impolite preference to what they are used to from southern cuisine. Sinbad eagerly tries everything, spilling both loud compliments and more than a few crumbs, and Ja’far picks at his own meal. He knows how much he can get away with eating to seem polite; sometimes, being small has its perks.

After much of the food has been shared and eaten and the alcohol is shared more vigorously, when the dancers come out and the seats are rearranged to enjoy shows and more companionable talk, Ja’far finds the Chief suddenly seated beside him.

Years of avoiding unnecessary movement—even tension—to avoid detection means that Ja’far knows he does not stiffen, but he knows that he certainly cannot appear calm. Sinbad scoots closer, his knee knocking Ja’far’s, in order to maintain a good distance for sharing the _greatly exaggerated_ tale of his latest dungeon conquest. He is offering both his proximity and his voice to soothe Ja’far, offering his storytelling as a distraction to Rametoto. Ja’far appreciates both wholly, but he also cannot help reflexive exasperation.

Sinbad has only exaggerated each dungeon more than the last.

Rametoto now sits between Ja’far and the twins, something Ja’far finds calculated but perfectly reasonable. He must still entertain Sinbad, of course, but he would _want_ to be close to his grandchildren. Being so near Ja’far is absolutely reasonable. It’s merely coincidence.

Ja’far accepts a horn of something strong-smelling with a benign smile.

He tries not to drink at public functions. As much as he loathes it, he and Sinbad have worked out a seamless system of passing drinks back and forth to make it seem as if Ja’far has finished whatever spirits have been given to him. Sinbad can hold his alcohol far better, and he is infuriatingly satisfied at _Ja’far_ being the one to hand him more.

But at least a satisfied Sinbad means he is less likely to misbehave in other ways.

As the story lulls—a necklace is not as impressive to show off as a sword had been, after all—the inevitable comes up.

“You two,” Rametoto begins, grinning down at the twins. His face is kindly but grizzled, his voice booming. Ja’far’s fingers clench on the half-empty horn, and Ramereka and Rukira blink up at the grandfather they don’t remember. “You’ve grown so much since I’ve last seen you!”

“Uhhh,” Ramereka replies, stalling out and drawing it out into a long, awkward syllable. Neither of the twins like strangers much, but Rukira has always had a better handle on expressions and speaking. Eventually, after far too long, Ramereka chirps, “Yup!”

“Haven’t I grown, too?!” Kikiriku excitedly interrupts, nearly crawling over his sisters in his bid for attention. Ja’far has rarely been so thankful for his personality.

“You’re nearly a man now!” Rametoto declares and fondly ruffles Kikiriku’s hair. He nearly sends the boy to the floor, and Ja’far watches with a hooded expression. When Kikiriku bobs back up, cheeks straining for how hard he’s smiling, his father’s headband is askew. “I haven’t seen a headband like this since the last time your father was here.”

“Hinahoho sends his regards,” Sinbad cheerily interjects, swaying on his cushion. He wears drunken happiness well.

“Soon enough, I’ll have to have you _all_ in one place at one time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that!” Rametoto laughs again, and Ja’far wonders how much the man has had to drink himself.

“For what?”

“Why, for _you_ to fight your very own rampaging unicorn! You may not live in the snow, but you’ve still a warrior’s heart in that little chest, and proud Imuchakk blood in your veins. It’s how you prove you’re an adult!” Rametoto grins at him, a little sharper now, and Kikiriku’s eyes sparkle. Even Ramereka seems a little keener on her grandfather now.

But Ja’far does not understand the sidelong look Rametoto gives _him_ after.

Ja’far avoids his eye and sips at his drink. It’s strong, but Sinbad is approaching his own (Ja’far-issued) limit, and Ja’far can surely hold a little bit of his own liquor. He’s not a child.

 

—

 

Ja’far is thoroughly _drunk_ by the time Sinbad begs out for the night.

So is Sinbad, but everyone is used to that, even the children. Rametoto laughs that huge, booming laugh of his, and he almost sends Sinbad to his knees when he claps him on the back. “A fine welcome for a fine young King! We’ll see how cheery you are in the morning for those tax discussions.”

Ja’far stumbles forward, laughing to himself, tugged onward by Ramereka. Rukira leads them both, uncharacteristically grinning. Ja’far wishes she’d smile more, she seems like such a serious child, and the world needs more happy children, not serious ones.

“And tomorrow afternoon, I’ll spend some time with the kids,” Rametoto adds, to Sinbad. Ja’far twists to look at them both, finds them grinning at one another, ever more amicable in their intoxication.

Moving that much while walking is too much for Ja’far; no amount of muscle memory can make up for alcohol, which is a very large reason why he does not drink. Kikiriku catches him, however, and hauls Ja’far so far up onto his shoulder Ja’far’s shoes hardly scrape the ground with each step.

Kikiriku laughs as he shifts so he can carry Ja’far on his back. “You’re drunk! I can’t believe it!” he exclaims in delight.

“He laughs more when he’s drinking!” Ramereka declares with that same kind of excitement as her brother.

“Is that why you two’ve been telling such jokes?” Ja’far asks, half-muffled by Kikiriku’s shoulder. “Should mind your manners, y’know…”

“You’re the only stuffy one here! You gotta be _happy_ with family, right!” Ramereka tells him.

Ja’far has _long_ been accused of being stuffy. Never by a child before, but the words don’t sting either way. “‘m happy to serve my King,” Ja’far replies, “and help you three with _your_ family.”

“ _Brother_ ,” Kikiriku says pointedly, jostling Ja’far just to make him groan, “you’re being mean to yourself again! Dad told us we can tell you to cut it out.”

“Don’t say that when we’re here,” Ja’far scolds on reflex.

“Uncle Sinbad!” Ramereka turns and shouts, hands cupped around her mouth to help her already loud voice carry farther.

Sinbad jumps with an injured yelp.

“Brother’s being mean again! Tell him to stop, he listens to you!”

It is only because he’s so close that he can hear her. Ja’far bursts into wild laughter, both at Sinbad’s _noise_ , and the way he has already began his dismayed spluttering. “ _Uncle_?! Why am I the uncle? Shouldn’t I be your brother, too, Ramereka? I’m _much_ too young to be referred to as—”

Ja’far is laughing so hard he nearly falls off of Kikiriku.

The twins are _delighted_. “Uncle Sin, c’mere, lookit how much fun Ja’far has when we’re mean to you!”

“Come look, come look!”

“Stop calling me that, would you?!” Sinbad stomps over, and Ja’far turns to him with bleary eyes and hiccuping breaths.

He begins laughing all over again when he sees Sinbad’s pout.

Ja’far is far too distracted, by his intoxication and his near-hysteria, to have noticed how keenly Chief Rametoto had watched their exchange.

Ja’far hardly remembers how they return to their lodgings, but he’s walking under his own power again, albeit with an arm thrown over Sinbad’s shoulders. The twins are twice as excited as they were before, despite the late hour, and Ja’far wonders how long it will be before they’re able to sleep.

They have two rooms for themselves: Sinbad, as a King, is offered privacy and lavish rooming. Not that the second room is any less so, certainly fit for the Chief’s grandchildren. The rooms share a common wall, and an adjoining door, something Ja’far had already inspected earlier.

But after months at sea, sharing piles of cushions and blankets with the crew, and after years of the same sort of sleeping arrangements with Sinbad, and due in no small part to the alcohol still buzzing in his brain, Ja’far follows Sinbad into his room on complete instinct.

Sinbad doesn’t appear to notice their indiscretion, either.

Ramereka makes a great show of fluffing their pillows for them, cheeks puffed out, and Rukira helps Ja’far from getting stuck in his sleeves. He is too tired to take the wires off his arms, though she clucks her tongue at him in disapproval. (Rurumu had done the same thing when he’d been a child, but Rurumu had also forcibly stripped them off Ja’far if he did not cave to her disappointment.)

“Look at you two,” Kikiriku says, leaning on the dresser in the corner, mouth curled up like a smug cat’s.

Ja’far thinks he’s referring to the twins.

“Do the old men need help getting into bed?”

“I didn’t raise you to be so cheeky,” Ja’far grumbles.

Sinbad huffs, glaring at the far wall, while he tries to braid his hair for bed. “I’m _not_ old, you know. I’m also not the one who’s falling down drunk, so I’m with Ja’far on this one. Where _did_ all of this sudden brattiness come from?”

“Our big brother!” Ramereka declares.

“Right… You _did_ raise them…” Sinbad says, now turning his own special type of disapproval on Ja’far.

“Everyone needs to go to bed,” Ja’far announces, in his sternest, hardest voice. He then falls face-first directly into a pile of pillows, and passes out before he can hear how well the children listen to him.

 

—

 

Ja’far wakes to a hand shaking his shoulder.

He is first alarmed, not because of the rude awakening, but because he does not like being touched in his sleep and normally wakes whenever anyone approaches him. But when he blinks his bleary gaze upward, he finds Kikiriku leaning over him, expression unusually troubled.

He’s used to the children, and the other Generals; their proximity do not wake him like when he was younger.

He maintains his alarm, however, because Kikiriku looks genuinely worried.

Not so much time has passed that it’s light out, and Ja’far can feel latent alcohol slowing his reactions and making his body heavy. But it is with a clear, if groggy, voice that he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Ramereka had a nightmare,” he whispers.

Ja’far sits up, and it is with only mild dismay that he finds himself in Sinbad’s bed, not where he _ought_ to be—with the children. Of course Ramereka had a nightmare. The girls had been having nightmares since they were three years old, and with all of the excitement and strangeness of the day, Ja’far should have known better.

He sighs, and goes to slip out of bed, but Sinbad manages to worm an arm around his waist at the very last moment.

Ja’far sighs again.

“Sin,” he begins, but Sinbad makes an angry, sleepy noise.

“S’too _cold_ , Ja’far,” he whines.

“Go back to sleep,” Ja’far mutters. Sinbad shouldn’t be the one complaining about cold. Already, Ja’far can feel the chill of the night seeping into his exposed skin, no longer warmed by sleep, or alcohol—or Sinbad. Ja’far eyes their sleeping arrangements again, and realizes how close they must have been before Kikiriku woke him.

The children are not the only ones he should be worrying about on this trip.

Sinbad clings to Ja’far even tighter. Ja’far isn’t certain how truly awake he is—the man clings, fiercely, in his sleep and this is no secret—but he doesn’t have the energy to turn this into as much of a spectacle as it could sometimes be with that man.

Rukira solves the issue by walking in, tugging her sister along behind her by the hand, and throwing them both into the pile of blankets on the bed.

Ja’far wheezes as sharp little elbows and knees get stuck all over, and if Sinbad weren’t awake before, he certainly is now, when Ramereka sticks her icy feet onto his legs. Kikiriku invites himself in—the bed for a visiting King is large, but it still barely fits the five of them, and Ja’far is _used_ to sleeping in a pile.

Sinbad ends up torn from Ja’far, both twins between them, and Kikiriku is flopped halfway over Ja’far’s shoulders, a living (and _very heavy_ ) blanket. Ramereka is closer to Ja’far, and he frees his arm from beneath Kikiriku to pet over her hair a few times. She shivers, not from the temperature. Ja’far continues carding his fingers through her hair until her breathing evens out into sleep.

His wires aren’t on his arms anymore. Sinbad must have unwound them after he’d fallen asleep, but Ja’far knows they’re under his pillow.

Sinbad’s hand manages to find his other one, trapped beneath the pillows and Ramereka’s head, and he squeezes Ja’far’s fingers briefly before passing back out with a snore.

Ja’far smiles to himself, and drifts back off.

 

—

 

Sinbad complains just as much about his hangover as Ja’far expected.

He is there to soothe him with water and herbs and exactly seven minutes worth of sympathetic humming whenever Sinbad groans against the early morning light. Then, however, it is time for business.

They get dressed, Ja’far eyes the attendant that will be watching the children, and Ja’far ensures everything else runs on smoothly. The woman with the children, an old friend of Rurumu’s if Ja’far is not mistaken, is kind-eyed and pretty and coaxes even Rukira into a smile.

He can relax.

Or as much as one can relax while attending to a hungover and pitiful King who must now suffer through what he is worst at: discussing the very fine details of updated trade contracts.

Sinbad is a man gifted with many, _many_ talents. He is a talented speaker, a powerful warrior, charismatic, caring, cunning, talented with several types of swordplay, conqueror of several dungeons, stupidly handsome—the last part does not matter as much as the rest, of course. Ja’far admires and respects him for a great many reasons. Sinbad has accomplished much in little time, and he will do much more.

But the man has little talent for the minor details of bureaucracy.

Ja’far has the mind for numbers and seeing the little puzzle pieces fit together. He attends the meeting, both in his own capacity as General as well as attending to his King, but there is only so much he can do.

They know how to handle these situations, of course. Sinbad is not stupid (except when he is), and he will only make a minor fool of himself at best. They will not ruin years’ worth of friendship with Imuchakk because Sinbad does not understand the exact logistics of adjusting import taxes by fractions of percentages.

Though this knowledge does not stop Ja’far from worrying.

He thinks the end of the world may not stop him from worrying about Sinbad or Sindria.

But despite the length and Sinbad’s occasional less-than-politically-appropriate remark, things run as smoothly as they ever do. This is meant to be a friendly, relaxed visit, after all. As the day wears on, and Sinbad bounces back to his normal, exuberant, boundless self, Ja’far allows himself to ease into the atmosphere of it.

They adjourn for lunch, and Sinbad and Rametoto go in one direction, and Ja’far in another.

He meets the children outside the palace, on their way back from a trip to the markets. Ja’far admits he startles when he sees both girls’ mouths stained black.

“Squid ink!” Ramereka exclaims before Ja’far can even open his mouth to ask. “They use it to flavor these li’l candy things!”

Ja’far accepts the little bag of strangely shaped candies and looks up at their attendant for further information. The woman smiles kindly down at him. “We had a tour of one of our markets, and they were eager to try more of the cuisine here. They were very excited about all of the new things.”

Under the watchful eye of both twins, he tries one of the snacks. He finds it doesn’t have much flavor, outside of a vague sweetness mixed with an even vaguer saltiness, but when he sticks out his tongue to show them both how it’s colored, they clap excitedly.

They still have an hour until Rametoto would like to see them, so Ja’far asks for the tour to continue. He’s happy to see all of them in higher spirits, even with all of the curious onlookers and throngs of shoppers bustling about. To Ja’far’s surprise, they see a handful of non-Imuchakk people; there is a stall selling fine metal jewelry from Sasan, a _very_ cold-looking couple from Heliohapt browsing wares, and a noblewoman from Reim with her attendants being given a tour of her own.

Ja’far smiles to himself. Despite a more sedentary life in Sindria’s palace with more paperwork and less dungeon-conquering of his own, he still loves travel, and he loves how it leads to sharing the world that much more fully with others.

That had been Sinbad’s doing. For him, personally, and also bringing all of these other cultures to one another. To earning the trust and respect of so many nations and heads of states, to foster an alliance so grand. Ja’far doubts he will ever stop feeling so proud of Sinbad.


	3. the meaning of family part 1

Kikiriku has never enjoyed being fussed over.

He had trailed after Ja’far for much of his childhood, and demanded to be carried as much as possible by anyone strong enough to do so, but he’s never liked the direct attention many other children seem to enjoy. Both twins are tolerant, if not welcoming, of that sort of attention, and even little Hira likes it.

But Kikiriku has always been more independent, and more eager to prove himself mature enough not to need that sort of thing.

Ja’far doesn’t mind it now; he busies himself re-braiding Rukira’s hair, perfecting her long plaits from where they’d gotten mussed during the day, and Ramereka works a comb through her own thick hair. Kikiriku waits by the door, bored, but otherwise, his appearance is suited for meeting with the Chief.

“What’s grandfather like?” Kikiriku asks, while Ja’far ties off one of Rukira’s braids.

Ja’far knew this question had been coming. He’s surprised it took _so long_ , actually. He beckons Ramereka over, and she seats herself in his lap with a happy grin, despite how Ja’far _oofs_ at her size.

“I’ve only known him through state functions,” Ja’far frankly replies, “but he is a good man. Sin trusts him, and so do I. Your father and mother have only ever spoken highly of him, and we know that he has the respect and adoration of all of Imuchakk.”

“Yeah, but.” Kikiriku sighs and pushes away from the door. “But what is he _like_?”

“Is he like papa?” Ramereka asks, tilting her head back, nearly smacking Ja’far in the nose. “Or like mother?”

“Neither, as far as I can tell. People are all different. Even if he is your mother’s father, he doesn’t have to act like her, and just because he _is_ a father, does not mean he acts like _yours_. Make sense?”

“But what is he _like_?” Kikiriku presses.

“He’s a dungeon conqueror, like Sin. Forneus. He’s maintained peace between the different clans, despite how much the world is changing now.” Ja’far finishes brushing through Ramereka’s hair, then flatly adds, “Do _not_ ask him to show you his djinn equip.”

“But Sin shows us his!” Ramereka exclaims at once.

“And Sin said it looks _so strong_! He has a tail, and armor, and I want to see it!” Kikiriku nearly shouts with just as much, if not _more_ dismay.

Sinbad may accuse Ja’far of spoiling children, but at least he doesn’t show them dangerous magical armor and makes them believe it all to be _playthings_.

Sinbad had already (discreetly, and out of the way of prying eyes and ears of young ones) discussed with Ja’far the possibility of staging a match with Rametoto. Exhibition fights are not uncommon, and Hinahoho and Pipirika had both agreed that it was done in Imuchakk, too. Sinbad has practiced and trained in various stages of his djinn equip with several Generals as well as Mira (as disastrous as their political trips sometimes could be), so it _could_ happen. Hypothetically.

Ja’far doesn’t dare bring it up in front of the children, however. If it doesn’t happen, they’ll be heartbroken—and worse, _loud_ about it. Until he can sort out Rametoto’s exact feelings about Sinbad and Ja’far bringing him his grandchildren without Hinahoho—without _Rurumu_ —Ja’far doesn’t wish to overstep any bounds.

“ _I_ will ask about it,” Ja’far decides, because he can be stern about many things, but not with a lapful of watery eyes and quivering pout, “and none of you will pester the Chief about it. Am I understood?”

Ja’far does not let them leave until he receives three vocal agreements.

Then, all too quickly, they are being ushered back towards the grand hall. Ja’far walks behind them—Kikiriku proudly leads them, then Rukira, then Ramereka—with his folded hands hidden in his sleeves. It is trickier to do in a coat rather than his usual uniform robes, but not impossible.

He counts exits and windows as they pass. He counts the number of guards and knows which he could fight fairly and which would require a retreat. Retreats with multiple participants are more difficult, but he could manage that, too.

It is not out of distrust for Imuchakk, but it is years’ worth of instinct and training. Even among their own people, Ja’far will not tamp down any instinct that could protect them. He will not allow himself to become too comfortable again.

When they are allowed into the grand hall, Ja’far bows deeply, and the children mimic him only after a lengthy amount of conspicuous staring. Ja’far doesn’t dare lay hands on them to force any bows, not in front of Rametoto. Instead, he announces, “Chief Rametoto, allow me to announce Kikiriku, and formally introduce Ramereka and Rukira, the three eldest of Lady Rurumu and Lord Hinahoho.”

Rametoto steps down off his dais, arms open wide, grin in place. His clothing has relaxed further from the meeting that morning, now outright casual, slouched and well-worn. “It always warms this old warrior’s heart to welcome family to Imuchakk!” he booms.

Kikiriku lights up, running to him, but the twins remain wary. Ja’far stays near them, silent but a solid presence for them.

“Grandfather, do you remember me?” he demands, stopping just out of arm’s reach, but bouncing on the balls of his feet with all his excitement. “I remember you! It’s been so long, but how are you still in charge? I gotta ask—does this make me a prince? Sin talks about leaders getting overthrown all the time! Am I gonna have to fight off rogues and bandits and assassins?”

Ja’far resists the urge to hide his face in his sleeves. Only a twitch of his brow gives away any reaction. It is not his place to correct or discipline the children, even when they behave outrageously.

“I’m still in charge because no one’s stronger!” Rametoto declares. He closes the distance between them and crushes Kikiriku to him in a massive hug. “And you—little prince, yes, but still too small to be fighting off too many rogues or bandits! Don’t get a big head because of a title.”

Rametoto has many grandchildren, and the children are all aware that while they may carry titles here, they have little political importance. Being raised by a King and his Generals has dampened much of the starry-eyed awe that they may have otherwise had toward royalty.

Thankfully.

“Come here, little princesses, and let your grandfather get a good look at you,” Rametoto adds, and opens his arms again to welcome the twins.

Both of the girls look up to Ja’far, as if asking permission. With a frozen smile, he nods, and gently steers them toward the Chief. He’s sure it’s not unnoticed.

“Both of you have grown so much, already so strong,” Rametoto compliments, as if he isn’t effortlessly lifting all three massive children without strain. “And already so beautiful! You both look so much like your mother.”

“She wore her hair like this, too,” Ramereka proudly points out. As if it were somehow not common knowledge. She wedges one of her arms free and throws one of her plaits in Rametoto’s face.

He only laughs. “Yes, she did, and you wear it just as well. But you may have to tie it back a little more when you face your very own rampaging unicorn!” He sets his grandchildren down, but remains upon one knee. Ramereka beams up at him, smoothing over her braids, and even Rukira manages a little smile.

Ja’far finally relaxes.

“Tell us about how you fought yours! And when you conquered the dungeon!” Kikiriku demands excitedly.

“Don’t you hear enough dungeon conquering stories with that young King of yours?”

“We’ve heard them a _lot_ ,” Rukira solemnly answers, “so please tell us yours.” At least she remembered her manners. Small miracles.

Rametoto gestures them toward one of the sitting areas. Like much of Imuchakk culture, it contains a lot of pillows and the idea is to sit companionably close; the children take it as all the invitation they need to crawl all over each other in a bid for the best seat. Ja’far moves only close enough to be able to hear them, one eye still on the door, but he startles when Rametoto gives him a sharp look.

“Think you’re too old for stories? Surely you most of all must be tired of Sinbad’s same old tales.”

For a mortifying moment, Ja’far is speechless. Stories? Too _old_? _Why is he remarking upon my age?_ True, he’s heard more than a few remarks upon his age in past official meetings across the world, but with half the Generals younger than he and a King hardly older, it is easy to brush off.

Rametoto squints at him when he doesn’t move for a beat too long. “It’s difficult to tell at times—how old _are_ you, now? Rurumu never could give me an exact age, only that you were the oldest. Despite your size.”

“Pardon?” Ja’far manages.

“Older than Sharrkan and Masrur but younger than Uncle Sin and Aunt Pipirika!” Kikiriku dutifully recites. (Sindria’s ruling group is a haphazard mixture of well-recorded royal histories and urchins more or less grabbed from the street. Everything is relative.)

“He’s the Fanalis boy, right? And he couldn’t make it?”

“Yeah, and he’s even stronger than papa!” Ramereka says, because it’s her greatest joy whenever she manages to con Masrur into lifting increasingly heavy objects for her.

“Rurumu told me a lot about Sindria in her letters,” Rametoto says, finally halfway an explanation, and spares Ja’far another sharp look. “Hinahoho and Pipirika send them from time to time, but nothing as frequent, understandably. But I’ve heard a _lot_ about you kids.”

Ja’far cannot help the heat in his face and curses his pale complexion. “Please forgive me for any overstepping or exaggeration that may have occurred—”

Rametoto waves a large hand. “Please, Ja’far, I know you are used to being the adult with this wild lot, especially that Sinbad, but you are still a grandchild in front of a great Chief. It won’t harm you to sit down and listen to an old man’s stories.”

It probably is not healthy to go from so red to so pale so quickly.

“I-I’m sorry, but I believe there’s some sort of… mistake.”

It is something Ja’far has told himself time and time again. Even before Rurumu had died, every time she called him her son, there was that moment of overwhelming joy—followed by the dark little voice telling him _she doesn’t mean it like that_. No one would want to be a mother to an assassin whose first blood had been his parents’.

He fists his hands inside his sleeves and barrels onward, because this is a wound that must be lanced. “I have nothing but the utmost respect and adoration for your late daughter, Chief. And it is true that while we are a young country of young rulers, your daughter and her husband stepped up to some of the more responsible roles, but it was… We are all very close, see, and Sindria is very proud of the fact that its people are close and welcoming, but it’s not as if…”

Not as if she had been his mother.

Not as if he hadn’t grown up with these children— _raised_ them.

Years of hearing ‘brother’ and living for the praise Rurumu and Hinahoho would give him whenever he did something right, or helped with the children—Ja’far is fighting against years of that soft, golden time that he would kill to return to. Family.

He still has his family, of course. King and country and children.

But blood is important to Imuchakk, and he can’t very well point that out to the Chief when it ought to be obvious. Rurumu had given him pretty words and all of the warm support he’d desperately needed when younger. She had given so much to everyone. Ja’far cannot be selfish and think himself special compared to that sort of woman.

The embarrassment compounds when he realizes his eyes are stinging.

“Forgive me,” he exclaims, hurriedly hiding his face with his sleeves, bowing his head before the Chief. “I am terribly sorry for this indiscretion and this confusion—”

“Are ya cryin’?” Ramereka is suddenly at his elbow, gently but firmly prying away his hand to peer into his face. He sees Rukira on her other side, the same amount of worried.

“Please excuse me,” Ja’far nearly pleads, because there’s no other way out of this situation without worsening it.

“Stay,” Rametoto says. The one word carries across the hall like a command, and the twins tug Ja’far toward the sitting area.

Ja’far digs his heels in. For all their strength, he has had the time necessary to know how to circumvent them.

Rametoto sighs. Kikiriku, still seated, looks between them with growing unease.

“This has been a long time coming, I suppose,” Rametoto finally says. “And I am not placing any blame on you for that. Nor am I taking any.”

As if Ja’far would blame him for any of this.

“In Imuchakk, if someone says you are family, then you are family. I know other countries care about lineage, and blood loyalty, and other muck, but in Imuchakk, all that matters is that your heart is that of a warrior. That means courage, yes, but also love and loyalty. Rurumu was one of the greatest warriors of her generation, and I’m pleased to see that she has passed on so much of that to her children.”

Ja’far swallows thickly, and he cannot meet the man’s eye. “She only said these things. There was nothing official…”

“Well, before Sinbad came along, there’d been nothing official about Imuchakk’s dealings with _any_ other country. Laws change. Countries change. And not that I am the one to ask about the minutiae of the bureaucratic affairs—in that regard, your King and I have a little too much in common—but you may very well be the first case of this sort of adoption. Rurumu always did like to be the first…”

“And you were so _worried_ ,” Ramereka slyly points out. She finally succeeds in tugging Ja’far down onto a cushion, if only because he’s too stunned to continue to object.

“Looking at you, it’s safe to say you will never be a giant, and you’re too pale to blend in. You’ll never be Imuchakk. But you _are_ Imuchakk, in the ways that it matters.” Rametoto sighs again, and scrubs a hand over his rough jaw. “You really are the silent, brooding type, aren’t you?”

“He’s shy,” Rukira says with a fond pat on Ja’far’s shoulder.

“I’m not. _Shy_ ,” he forces out. Mercifully, while his eyes still sting, he has shed no tears. He must look a right state, of course, but his voice does not waver when he speaks. “I apologize, Chief Rametoto. This has all caught me off guard. It had never been my intention to embrace any of Rurumu’s words—”

“My daughter was a woman of her word,” Rametoto growls.

“Of course she was,” Ja’far replies, bewildered. “Rurumu was a great woman, and I aspire to be like her every day. But this visit was never about—I did not intend to claim anything. I am here as King Sinbad’s advisor—”

“And our brother,” Kikiriku adds.

Ja’far glares at him as much as he dares in front of his grandfather. Praying for no other interruptions, he says, “This trip is for the children, and for Sin—Sinbad—to flex some bureaucratic muscles he would otherwise allow to atrophy.”

“Children. Plural.” Rametoto spreads his arms wide. “I know you have never had any sights set on power in Imuchakk. I doubt you could beat General, anyway, but I have never felt threatened by your position with my daughter. But I would prefer us to speak like reasonable people, and go forward from here.”

“Where to?” Rukira asks. (At least she hadn’t interrupted.)

“For a start, how old _are_ you?” Rametoto asks and leans in. Ja’far does not trust the man’s grin. He looks entirely too much like a shark. “Kikiriku has his father’s headband, but I think _you_ are about of age to earn your own.”

Ja’far has _vivid_ flashbacks to Sinbad and Hinahoho’s epic (and often changing) recount of their rampaging unicorn fight.

“With all due respect, Chief, I will _never_ be old enough, or large enough, to earn that place in your culture.”

“I’ll take his place!” Kikiriku volunteers at once. “I can fight one early! Then Ja’far can have mine and I’ll keep wearing this one!”

It appears as if Ja’far is not the only one so far removed from Imuchakk culture. He knows Rurumu and Hinahoho had been so busy with Sindria and raising their family to visit home often, and obviously, some cultural knowledge has also slipped through the cracks in her otherwise impeccable (and terrifying) teaching.

“That isn’t how it works,” Ja’far gently corrects. “They can be passed down from parent to child, temporarily, until someone earns their own. You’ll fight for yourself, alright?”

“I’ll fight for you, then, brother!” Ramereka exclaims.

If only Ja’far could (lovingly) smother these children. “Do I need to repeat myself? Fight for your _own_ headband. And why are you all so excited to fight giant monsters?” Wait, these children were raised in Sindria by a large group of dungeon conquerors and warriors. Giant monsters are only another day for them.

“Fearless! I like it. You’re doing a good job as the eldest, hm?” Rametoto asks with an all too smug glint in his eye. “You ought to set an example, however.”

Ja’far loved Rurumu. He still loves Hinahoho and Pipirika, albeit more at a distance, now that he has grown and with the loss of Rurumu still weighing on them all.

But he knows how any Imuchakk would _happily_ throw anyone into the sea to let them prove themselves, and have a grand time watching at that.

He will _not_ swim after a rampaging unicorn to try to kill something that large with _daggers_. In the ocean. He would probably electrocute himself trying.

So he does the only thing he can think of to push Rametoto’s odd focus off himself: he blames Sinbad.

“In Sindria, the strongest is usually the dungeon conqueror. Us household members are also powerful, but the truest test of strength are the matches between fellow conquerors.”

Predictably, all three children turn starry-eyed gazes to their grandfather.

“You’re a conqueror, too!”

“Fight Sin! Show us what Forneus is like!”

“Baal is stronger than sea monsters, anyway!”

“He does it with others all the time, he would like it!”

Then, Rukira with the mortal blow: “ _Please_ , Grandfather?”

Ja’far refuses to feel any guilt for how quickly Rametoto buckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (for anyone who doesn't want to try to do the math i had to to make sense of snb's timeline and lack of any proper dating system, ja'far is about seventeen here. he, naturally, acts fifty.)


End file.
